


Saros Lavellan

by Tori_Jeagers



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: How Do I Tag, challenge, some nsfw, the rest of the Inquisition is there too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 12,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tori_Jeagers/pseuds/Tori_Jeagers
Summary: 100 stories featuring Inquisitor Saros Lavellan.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Any chapters containing NSFW content will have a warning in the notes, as well as what type of content it will contain. This is my first time posting anything to AO3, as well as my first time sharing any fics in nearly a decade, so I hope some enjoy it. I adore my inquisitor a lot and wanted to share him with others.

Saros could _not_ believe what he was hearing.

_'This should not be happening!"_ Saros' mind screamed.

The conclave had been destroyed. So many lives lost, strangers, and friends alike taken by the explosion.

All that the young elf could remember was being sent to the conclave by his Keeper to spy on the Shems. To learn and report on the fate of mages and the circles as soon as possible.

Saros was one of the most promising hunters of clan Lavellan. He was praised by other hunters for his ability to sneak up on anything. Saros could slip into the shadows. He could slice his target with silent accuracy, eliminating his target. And then he is slipping away undetected once more.

Now, he was captured, held prisoner by the same Shems he had been sent to spy on.

He awoke, shackled to a cold stone floor, a blinding white hot pain slicing through his left arm from his palm. As he screamed in pain, he heard heavy footsteps approach.

Looking up, he saw a human woman. From the scars and look in her eyes, he could tell she was a warrior.

He later learned her name was Cassandra, one of the hands of Divine Justinia.

She looked furious.

She accused him of being responsible for the death of the Divine. Of being the one to demolish the conclave. Worst of all, she blamed Saros of tearing the hole in the sky.

The sight of that massive Rift breaking apart the endless sky sent ice-cold water through his veins.

The mere thought of something being unleashed on the world was insane. The mere thought of something capable of such destruction frightened and angered Saros.

He could understand why the shems around him were angry. They needed something, or someone, to blame. He was the easiest choice, having no memory and being the last one seen with the Divine.

After learning what the rift was capable of, Saros decided he would do anything to help stop them. Discovering that he was the only one capable of sealing the breach. That solidified Saros' decision.

Saros would do whatever it took to seal the hole in the sky, and return peace to Thedas.


	2. Love

Saros loved being able to love.

He couldn't help himself.

He had been told early on by his father that he was full of it.

He loved the warm feeling. The spread of heat from the center of his being. The elation and pureness felt with the emotion. The high he felt when experiencing love better than any other.

He loves his clan. His strong mother, and his caring father. His wise Keeper, and fellow clansmen. The hunters that worked beside him to feed the clan. His best friend, always there for him.

He loved the halla. Their pure white fur and spiraling horns that rose above their heads. The strength displayed when pulling the aravel. The grace when running through the grass and trees when camp is made. The feeling of their mouths eating treats from his hands, mindful of their teeth against his skin.

He loved the world around him. The trees, and fields, and the sky. The rivers and streams. The lakes, and ponds, and vast ocean. He loved the snow in winter and the warmth of the sun in summer. He loved the sight and smell of new flowers in spring, and of the falling leaves in the autumn.

He loves to travel. To see all that the world and the people and creatures in it. He enjoyed seeing what living beings were capable of.

He loves the arts. The paintings of religious happenings, of important peoples, of landscapes of the past. The sculptures formed from marble and clay and metal. The tapestry work that decorates walls.

He loves music. The wide variety of notes floating through the air, eliciting emotions of all kinds. Fast and exciting one second, slow, and sad the next.

He loves books. The places they could take him. The knowledge that could be shared through words and pages. One could tell him the story of star-crossed lovers. Another could teach him the history of a town, or the lore of a lake.

He loves to learn. To absorb all knowledge that he can. He's learnt of court etiquette. He's memorized bits and pieces of other languages. He has even dedicated time to learning magical theory, despite his inability to use magic.

He loves his friends. Those he's come to rely on, both in and out of battle.

He loves Bull. The man who holds his heart. A single thought of the man brought warmth through Saros' body. He loved the way Bulls presence could ease the strain of responsibility. He helps chase away the fear of failure. The two could talk for hours about everything and nothing and never tire of one another.

Saros loved to love, and he would do anything to protect what he loved.


	3. Hate

Hate.

That boiling, scalding emotion that bubbled up. Dredging up anger and pain, all in one mixing pot.

Saros wasn't unfamiliar with the sensation.

He had felt it whenever his clan passed by the ruins of their people's past. Seeing the destruction of history brought on by the humans. Knowing who it was that had slaughtered and enslaved the elves of the past.

He felt it when humans would spit slurs at him on the road, or in town markets. The words leaving their mouths like poison. Looking at him and his family like they were worse than garbage.

He felt it when he had learnt of how the Chantry treated mages. The way they were imprisoned. Locked away to be beaten and abused. Tormented until they couldn't take it any further. Turning into abominations or rebelling, only to be killed or turned into one of the Tranquil. A once thriving individual with hopes and dreams and lives, reduced to an unfeeling husk. A living vegetable.

He felt it towards Corypheus, and all his willing supporters. Those who wished to bring about the end of the world. A world that Saros still believed could change for the better.

Saros hated when he came across those who abused power and knowledge. Those who seemed to feel nothing for the weak or impoverished. The sick and the dying.

He couldn't understand the hatred felt towards his people.

He also hated the taste of bile that rose in his throat when he came across such atrocities.

He took that hate, and turned it into a drive to change things. To make the world better by learning from his hate.

The thing he hated the most, of all the possibilities, was hate itself.

Saros hated to hate.


	4. Dark

Darkness.

That was all there was to greet Saros as he awoke.

That, and the cold.

And the pain.

But he could deal with a bit of pain and cold. He'd done so many times before.

It was the all consuming darkness surrounding him that Saros couldn't handle.

It wasn't even that he was afraid of the dark.

This darkness was different.

It felt as though the pitch black surrounding the elf would consume him.

He couldn't chase away the feeling that, should he let his guard down, this darkness would consume him.

Maybe it was just paranoia.

Or a concussion.

A mountain did just fall on him.

That definitely wasn't going into one of his letters to clan Lavellan.

Saros groaned in pain as he carefully stood. He moved slowly, keeping inventory of what hurt. He was mindful of what may be broken, aware that there was likely more damage than what he currently felt.

Standing up, Saros was able to tell that there were no serious breaks. More bruises than broken bones was a good thing.

He found a bit of wood and oiled cloth. Using these, Saros jury rigged a torch. Pulling the kindling kit he always carried out of his belt pouch, he lit the makeshift torch.

His light green eyes blinked hard as he stood with the light. His large eyes attempting to adjust to the sudden presence of light around him.

With the aid of the torchlight, he could pick up the fact that there was snow and debris from Haven all around him. The rubble seemed to have created a protective barrier. It stood between Saros and the avalanche.

Saros quickly learned that the darkness clung around him like a thick wool blanket. Despite the creation and lighting of the torch, Saros could hardly see.

Even with the light, Saros felt uneasy.

Swallowing down panic, he headed forward. He carried on through the tunnel created by the mountains destruction.

The first few steps were agony. His entire body was covered in bruises. He might also have a cracked rib or two. He didn't know how he missed that in his initial once over. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, so Saros grit his teeth and moved on.

The small males pace was slow, preventing him from covering a large amount of distance. But he kept on, trying his best to ignore the pain, and the cold, and the fear. He carried on into the darkness until he reached the outside.

When he found himself still alone, he continued on. He followed used campfires. Each time feeling as though he was getting closer and closer to safety.

Saros walked and walked, stumbling weakly through the snow until he could no longer move.

His body was frozen, and he no longer hurt. All he felt was cold and exhaustion.

As the darkness returned to his eyes, Saros could have sworn he heard voices. They were muffled by the dark, and then there was nothing.


	5. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a follow up to the last chapter.

The light was too bright.

After so long in the darkness, the brilliance and burning of light all around him shocked all his senses.

Thinking hard, Saros could only remember pain and darkness. And a cold that sank into his bones, freezing him from the inside out.

Now, though, he was warm.

His body was comfortable, no longer in pain. Where once there were bruises and broken ribs, there was now healed skin and fresh, clean bandages.

Best of all, he was no longer surrounded by darkness.

Wherever his dazed eyes looked, there was light. Warm and shining.

The thought that he must be dead crossed his mind. He let his head rest back against the soft surface he was laying against.

That must be it, he thought. He was dead, and this was some sort of insanely comfortable paradise.

The more he thought, however, a voice in his head was shouting.

Or not, he realised.

The shouting wasn't coming from his mind, but somewhere past his warmly wrapped feet.

Saros opened his eyes and pulled himself onto his elbows in a half sitting position.

Some distance away was Cassandra, shouting. And there was Cullen and Leliana and Josephine.

Memory and realization dawned on him quickly.

He hadn't frozen to death on the side of a mountain.

He had been found, bundled up and his injuries treated to.

The light surrounding him was that of many campfires, torches, and lanterns.

Later on, Saros was filled in on all that had happened since his separation from the rest of the Inquisition. He was fed and kept warm, being allowed some amount of rest for a few days while Solas led everyone to some place he knew of.


	6. Memory

Saros had many fond memories from the years he spent living with his clan.

One of his favorite memories belonged to a time spent with his childhood friend, Zevriel.

Zevriel and Saros had been thick as thieves since the day they were born. They were almost always together, causing mischief wherever they went.

One day, when they were 15, the two elven boys had gone off to practice hunting together.

They had spent a good hour or so in the woods, each managing to catch several rabbits and a decent sized bird.

As they walked together through the area, they came across a young human hunter. The boy, who introduced himself as Justin, appeared to be about the same age as the two elves.

He had asked the two of them if there was any good hunting in the area. He seemed to hold no ill attitude towards elves. In fact, he was more polite than many older humans.

Being young and dumb, Saros and Zevriel had given one another a knowing glance. They shared a mischievous grin that the human failed to notice.

They told the human that there was a rare creature that lived in the wood known to the Dalish as a 'Snite.' It was difficult to catch, they said, but they told the hunter boy that they knew of a fail safe way to snag one.

The result of this joke was that the human teenager wandered the woods for several hours. The entire time singing 'Here, Snite, Snite, Snite. C'mere Snite!' while tapping a pine cone and a rock against a slab of bark.

This went on for a good two hours before Saros and Zevriel couldn't take it any longer.

The two of them broke down in laughter. They laughed so hard that they ended up on the ground, nearly crying at how ridiculous the Shem looked.

Justin had watched them, stunned at their sudden laughter. It didn't take long before he realized what they had done.

His own face had split into a grin as he pictured how much of a fool he must have looked. 

His own laughter sending him down alongside the elven teens on the ground.

The three laughed good and hard until they could laugh no longer.

In the end, Saros and Zevriel taught Justin how to hunt. The human left with a good collection of game that he could feed his family with for more than a week.

The two elves and the human became friends after that. They would hunt together whenever clan Lavellan came to that area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snipe hunts are a real practical joke that some people play in North America.


	7. Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Saros have a chat, Bull get's beat up by some kids.

Saros sat on a low wall, eating a sandwich of bread and meats.

He and his group were currently in Redcliff, resupplying from a rift hunt in the countryside. Dorian sat beside him with his own food, while Cole had apparently disappeared. Bull had ended up a living playground.

Saros and Dorian watched as a group of village children crawled all over Bulls massive body. Some leaped onto his back from low walls, others were swinging from his arms and horns. They seemed to be play wrestling.

The large Qunari seemed to be having a blast faux wrestling with the children. He would roar and howl alongside the tiny humans, going through mock death throes as a child fake   
killed him.

Saros and Dorian both assumed they were playing at being dragon slayers.

Said assumption was confirmed a moment later.

Bull lay down on the ground, and a child stepped a foot on him, crowing that she'd slayed   
the dragon.

The two men watching the scene play out laughed behind their meals. They sat the food down temporarily to applaud the performers.

Bull and the kids grinned, some taking bows, before resuming their game.

"So," Dorian said, breaking the silence between the two of them, "The big lug is good with kids."

Saros hummed in affirmation, enjoying the chance to watch his vhenan.

"An odd question, maybe, but have you ever thought of having any?"

The elf had to pause, chewing on his answer for a moment.

Finally, he nodded, "I'd like one or two. Growing up with my clan, it's hard to imagine a future without a large family."

Dorian hummed, "Do you want kids with The Bull?"

"Yeah," Saros murmured, smiling softly.

His attention was once more taken by the roughhousing between Bull and the kids.

The altus laughed, "You could definitely do worse."

Saros nodded again.

Dorians questioning had brought up some thoughts. Saros watched the large man carefully playing with the group of children.

Just the other day, Bull had sliced through an armored Red Templar torso, cutting him in half like butter.

Seeing that level of innocence and gentleness come from a man capable of such a thing did something to Saros.

This wasn't to say that Saros hadn't been aware of how careful Bull could be. No, he was very much aware.

But seeing him interact with children was a different experience entirely.

Saros wanted to see more of that.

Maybe he'd adopt a kitten or something. He'd been wanting an animal companion to curl up with while he worked anyhow.


	8. Crossroads

The Winter Palace was breathtaking.

The architecture, the music, the art, even the history of the place was fascinating.

The magic of the grandeur faded the longer Saros spent time there, though.

Saros knew it wouldn't be easy saving Empress Celine, but this was insane. He was now responsible for deciding who would be the ruler of the Orlesian Empire by the end of the night.

The elven Inquisitor knew from the start that he wouldn't be choosing Gaspard. The man got under his skin. Even before the proof of Gaspards betrayal to the Empress had been uncovered.

Florienne, like her brother, gave Saros a similar feeling of unease. But, unlike Gaspard, being in Floriennes presence made his skin crawl. Her betrayal, and the fact that she was working with Corypheus, came as no surprise.

When it came to Empress Celine, Saros couldn't get a read on the woman. He couldn't tell whether she was being genuine or not. According to Josephine, the Empress had been working towards a peaceful Empire. This would weaken their military, but Saros couldn't argue against a desire for peace, if this was true.

The final candidate, Ambassador Briala, was another tough read for him. Saros didn't get to meet the elven ambassador until later that night, and even then, he was unsure of her motives. Saros learnt that she would likely bring more rights to the elves of Orlais. That was if she became the Orlesian Empress.

All this kept Saros at the crossroads. He was unable to decide between keeping Celine as the Empress, or to bring Briala to power.

He was undecided until he learned something of great importance.

Empress Celine and Ambassador Briala had been lovers. Apparently, the Empress still had feelings for the Elven Ambassador.

Learning this, Saros came to his decision.

Speaking to both women privately, he was able to bring the two back together. This ending with the two ruling Orlais as a pair.

Celine worked to bring peace to Orlais. At the same time helping Briala to deliver more rights to the elves of the Empire.

Despite the Winter Palaces grandeur, Saros was glad to leave.


	9. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros and Bull have some fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some light NSFW stuff below. Includes naked kissing.

The Iron Bull picked Saros up, tossing him over his broad grey shoulder. The large qunari man grinned at his Chargers, who sat around them in Herald's Rest.

The men were hooting and hollering. They cheered their chief on as he climbed the stairs up to his room at the top of the tavern.

Saros wasn't surprised this was how the night was ending. This was a typical night of drinking with the Bull and his Chargers. These nights generally ended with Bull dragging him off and the others acting crazy. The elf couldn't complain, knowing that these nights ended in fantastic sex.

He was embarrassed the first time it happened, but now, it was something he found humorous.

Once Bull reached his room, he quickly opened the door. Shutting and locking it behind him, he strode across the room. The Bull tossed Saros onto the bed, leaving him for but a moment to secure the other two doors.

As soon as the others were locked, he stopped.

When the larger male turned around, a mischievous grin split his face. His smile reaching from ear to pointed ear. There was a hungry look in his eye. That look made him look like a predator on the hunt, and Saros was the soon to be devoured prey.

The Bull stalked forward, towards the bed.

He let out a playful snarl, before rushing forward.

The large man practically leaped onto the bed. The grey skinned giant of a man enveloping his smaller companion with his sheer size.

The two pressed their lips together in a kiss. Saros' thick painted ones against Bulls own scarred lips.

As they kissed, Bull began to unwind Saros' scarf. The fabric was placed to the side carefully.

He was less gentle with the rest of the elfs attire. The former Ben-Hassrath made quick work of Saros' upper clothing. The smaller man left in his cotton leggings. The clothes that had been removed were tossed to the floor, where they would remain for the rest of the night.

Or until noon the next day, whenever they decided to leave the bed.

Finished with revealing Saros' neck and torso, Bull returned to kissing him.

He started back at the plump lips, before moving to his sharp cheekbones. Following the bone until he reached a pointed ear, which he paid special attention to. From there, Bull make his way down the elfs neck. He laved at the sensitive skin with his tongue, sucking and biting a mark into the skin.

Once satisfied with his own mark on the Inquisitor, Bull made a wet trail of kisses and nips along Saros' torso. He would stop to give extra attention to one of the elfs nipples, then the other.

After the nubs were fully erect, Bull continued his trail downward.

He planted more open mouthed kisses along Saros' toned abdomen. Adding teeth at times to drive him wild.

Saros was beginning to lose himself to pleasure.

Bull seemed to have completely memorized everything that drove him crazy.

The white haired male was laid back against the bed, panting the mercenary chiefs name when...

"PLLLLLLLBPT!"

Saros yelped at the sensation of the raspberry being blown against his abdomen.

Alongside the raspberries was the press of Bulls fingers into Saros' armpits and sides.

It took a moment for Saros to register what was happening between his own shouts and laughter.

Bull was tickling him.

In the middle of what had started out as sexy time.

The Iron Bull continued his onslaught of the Inquisitors sides and stomach. He kept going until the smaller man was in tears from laughter. He only stopped when Saros tapped against the headboard.

Bull moved to lay beside him.

The sexual mood had been killed.

Saros was still giggling and panting heavily from the aftershocks of the onslaught.

Looking over to Bull, the man was laying on his side, propped up on his left elbow. He was watching Saros. He was looking down at him, his eye crinkled with pure, unaltered affection. The large man was looking at him with unlimited happiness, and that added to Saros' own love for the other man.


	10. Rejection

Saros couldn't take this anymore.

He could not stand being called the Herald of Andraste. He was not the so called chosen one. Especially not the chosen one of a deity that he did not worship.

Saros believed in the elvhen gods. The creators of the world around them. He did not believe that his surviving at the Conclave, or being pulled from the Fade, were the works of a Divine plan.

He knew, after regaining his memories, that whatever the anchor was. Whatever had happened to him. This was not divine in any sense.

To Saros, the entire situation screamed of magic. Magic that none, possibly with the exception of Solas, knew anything about.

The mages and healers and scholars and Chantry members who examined the mark knew nothing.

Everyone simply assumed.

No matter how hard he rejected being the Herald of Andraste, the chosen one of the Maker and Andraste themselves, he was ignored.

Saros could only hope that one day, the truth would be revealed, and he could have some peace from those titles.


	11. Sorrow

The cave system below Crestwood was, by far, on Saros' list of least favorite places to go.

It was right up there with the Fallow Mire. For similar reasons.

Both places were wet and soggy. Both were had spirits infesting them. And, worst of all, both places were infested with walking corpses.

Saros could not, by any means, stand the walking corpses.

The unnaturalness of seeing a walking corpse freaked him out. The shriveled body, rotted to the point that any defining features were gone. With many of these bodies, he was unable to determine any physical characteristics. He couldn't tell if they were human, or elf, or if they were old or young.

All he could tell when looking at the corpses was that they were bloated. They had been soaking in the flooded lake of Crestwood for a long time. They were always wet. The bodies looking as if bits of their flesh had dissolved, or been eaten by fish and other denizens of the lake.

Saros and his group, consisting of Bull, Dorian, and Cole, had been traveling a decent way. They were following a non-aggressive spirit that had appeared in front of the mayors former home in Old Crestwood. The spirit seemed to be guiding them towards the answers they needed. It never spoke, only floating in the direction they needed to go, and pausing when they fell behind.

Traveling the path of the Flooded Caves, they came on a side room.

The room was filled with corpses. The walls were covered in scratches, from human and elf fingernails.

Realization on the meaning of the scene before him washed over Saros like ice water.

These people drowned here.

These were the people that had been infected by the blight. They were sent here by the mayor to die.

A series of emotions hit Saros in waves.

First anger.

Then hatred.

Lastly, sorrow.

The grief he felt for these strangers overwhelmed his anger towards the mayor.

Saros sent a silent prayer to the deceased, then turned to carry on.

After the rift was taken care of, he would go after the mayor. He would hunt the man down and punish him for what he had done.


	12. Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros thinks about one of his scars.

Saros brushed long strands of white hair from his face. Josephine had requested that Saros make himself presentable. He had to attend an invaluable meeting with some Orlesian noblewoman.

So, Saros arranged his hair into a bun on the back of his head, twisting the strand up and out of the way. Tying his hair up with a strip of leather, Saros paused to look himself over in the mirror.

His hair was now in place, tied into a style suggested by Dorian.

Saros' light green eyes were outlined with dark black kohl and highlighted with a red shadow. The eye shadow contrasting against the green.

His lips were painted a dark red. It was a personal aesthetic choice that he felt worked well with his eye shadow and vallaslin.

Saros' face was clean. He had scrubbed away any and all dirt that may have been present before applying his 'war-paint'. The only blemish on his face was the pale scar that stretched from his right eyebrow to his temple.

The scar was not given by anything serious, although he wouldn't tell any nobles this fact.

When asked, he would say that it was from fighting a demon, or a bear, or some such thing.

The truth was that he had received the mark from a bird.

A raven to be precise.

Saros smiled at the memory of receiving the scar.

It had been the day he was participating in the vallaslin ceremony. Saros was alone, meditating in silence, as was tradition. The purpose was to allow him a chance to decide which of the evanuris he would dedicate himself to. Thus determining his duties and the shape of his blood tattoos.

He had sat in silence for so long. The noises of the forest and rustling of the wind his only company.

He sat in that one spot for so long, trying to decide which of the creators was right for him.

When he was about to give up, a raven had called out from one of the surrounding trees.

He paid this no mind, of course.

That is, until something hard had struck him in the head. Something knocked him backwards and stunned him in surprise.

When the raven flew down beside him, Saros had discovered that he'd been hit in the head by a nut.

A very hard and sharp nut.

The raven had dropped the nut, likely intending to crack it open on a rock or other hard surface. Instead, splitting the skin on Saros' head.

The impact had resulted in the scar now on his forehead.

Saros always tells his friends the truth about the scars origins. And yet, many agreed that making up stories for its appearance was more impressive than the truth.

Besides, coming up with tall tales for the little scratch on his forehead was fun. More fun than explaining the origins of the rest of his scars.

Those memories were harder to smile at.


	13. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros has some kinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk of NSFW. Everything is safe and negotiated. Includes talk of pain play, sexual spanking, nipple clamps, wax, and bondage.

Saros never knew that he could enjoy pain.

When Bull had first brought up pain play, through sexual spanking, Saros had thought the older man was insane. But, after Bull explained things to him, he had given it a shot, comforted by the knowledge that there was a safe word in place, and that Bull would abide by it.

So, they tried spanking, and Saros loved it.

He couldn't describe exactly why he enjoyed the pain of it as much as he had, but he did.

He felt it had something to do with the complete loss of control that came with it. The burn afterwards wasn't half bad either.

After exploring spanking, Saros had been more open to experimenting with other forms of pain. Each time, Bull explained what would happen first, ensuring Saros was comfortable with the situation.

Months later, Saros had made a list of preferences.

He enjoyed having his nipples clamped.

He liked having hot wax dripped onto his body.

He liked to be spanked, with either a paddle or Bulls bare hand, and then pounded into the sheets.

Mixing all those things together, plus some form of bondage, was definitely something Saros found enjoyable.


	14. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros has a big family.

Few realized it, but Saros had a large family.

There was his mother, Serasa. She was the lead hunter of clan Lavellan. A follower of Anduril, she had dedicated herself to providing for the clan. Growing up, she was to one to teach Saros, as well as the other elf children, how to hunt. She had taught Saros everything she knew about fighting and on stalking prey unseen.

There was Saros' father, Feros. He was the clans craft master. He was a follower of June. Feros constructed the clans weapons and armor, as well as any other necessities. Saros had learnt to respect and love art and fine craftsmanship from him. He had also been taught to treat other kindly, and with respect, by his father.

Keeper Istimaethoriel, the one who had always believed in Saros' abilities. She believed in him so much so that she chose him as the clans spy at the conclave.

Zevriel, Saros' childhood friend. They were the one he spent the majority of his childhood with. They hunted together, ate together, everything. They were inseparable.

The clans first, Auralia, who had always treated him like a younger brother. She had always ran to Saros whenever she learnt a new spell or trick in her magic lessons with the Keeper.

Saros' fellow hunters, including Fiora, Danyri, and Nelhen. Saros' companions on long hunts. They had spent many hunts together. They would run along game trials and practice their skills together.

The Halla Master, Adris. He taught Saros a great deal about the halla, and when Saros was a child, allowed him to feed the calves.

The children of the clan, to Saros, were like siblings. Saros would help show them to use a bow and teach them stories.

Despite the long distance between Saros and clan Lavellan, they still keep in touch. Keeper Istimaethoriel and other adults of the clan write to Saros, updating him on things.

Saros, in turn, writes to his family. He keeps his letters simple but heartfelt. He never mentions his troubles, or any other hardships. Instead, Saros shares stories of his adventures. Describing the places he's been to, the people and creatures he's seen, is relaxing for the elf.


	15. Clouds

The walk back to camp was beginning to feel like an eternity.

Saros, along with Bull, Cassandra, and Dorian, had taken care of one of three High Dragons in the Emprise du Lion. The fight had taken forever. It consisted of their group running around like crazy. They avoided lethal shots of ice, and had to charge head first towards the dragon.

Everyone was sore. Their bodies were battered and bruised. Bits of frost clung to their clothes still. To top off the unpleasant experience, their feet had gotten wet. Now they were walking back to camp with frozen boots.

Camp was still many miles away. At the pace they were able to keep, it would be several hours before they reached the warmth of a fire.

Saros was trying to make the best of things.

Despite the cold, the excitement of fighting another dragon made his body hum.

He was distracted by thoughts of what the dragon pieces could be used for. Maybe a new weapon for a companion, or improved armor.

"Ah, fuck!"

The sound of the exclamation from Bull snapped Saros out of his thoughts.

"What?" He said. "What is it?"

Bull frowned, saying nothing but pointing a large finger towards the oncoming horizon.

Saros' eyes followed the line of his finger.

'Ah, fuck!' indeed.

Ahead of them was an incredible black mass. Towering storm heads, accompanied by a wall of rain pouring down on the landscape.

And it was coming right towards them.

"Well, isn't that perfect! Just what we needed after facing a near frosty death in an already frozen hellscape." Dorian quipped, his face scrunching in distaste.

Saros just sighed.

He was too tired to deal with anything more at the moment.

"Lets head back to the Colosseum for now, quickly, before the rain hits," he ordered.

The rest of the group nodded, turning around to retreat from the oncoming water.

Just as they climbed back up the stairs of the monument, the storm had reached them. It drenched the surrounding area in frozen rain.

They all slumped down against the back wall, huddling in a nook where the rain and wind couldn't reach them.

Saros and Dorian were able to set up a fire using a combination of magic and some flammable scraps.

While the two of them worked on the fire, Bull and Cassandra worked on clearing some rubble. They also arranged some rations and elfroot ointment to tend to the worst of the groups injuries.

In the end, they had arranged everything so that the fire was between them and the opening. Their boots and socks were arranged around the fire, allowing the material to dry.

Saros was seated next to Bull, leaning into the larger mans left side.

He was enjoying the natural heat coming off of the older male.

From where he sat, Saros could see the sky and the dark clouds.

He watched as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. He was almost lulled to sleep by the combined forces of the sounds outside. The warmth of Bull pressed into his side, and the exhaustion he felt dragged him towards sleep as well.

Everyone sat in silence, too tired to speak.

They were even too tired to complain about the cold.

The group of four just sat there, staring at the fire or looking out into the storm.

At some point, night had fallen, although none of them had really noticed.

Dorian had ended up on Bulls other side, sharing Saros' interest in Bulls body heat production.

Cassandra had refused the offer to join the cuddle pile. Instead, she pulled out a book and scooted closer to the fire.

'For better light,' she had said.

Eventually, everyone managed to sleep.

They all took turns keeping watch throughout the night.

\---

The next morning, Saros could tell that the storm had passed.

When he stepped out into the open air, Saros was greeted by what could be considered a rather lovely sight.

The sky was no longer grey and full of lightning. Instead, the sight of a morninglory blue sky greeted him. The blue of the sky accompanied by picturesque fluffy clouds. They reminded Saros of whipped cream that he'd seen used on fancy desserts.

Even the frozen landscape was fantastic. The snow and rocks glistened with a fresh coating of ice.

Everywhere that Saros looked was glowing with the reflection of the morning sun.

After appreciating the scenery and stretching out the kinks of sleeping on stone, Saros returned inside to help pack up their makeshift camp.


	16. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros hurts, but Bull's here to make it better.

Steam curled up from the hot water. It swirled up and away and around Saros' body as he lay in the bath, tucked in a small room off of his main apartment.

His body shifted painfully from time to time as he lay there in the water. Huffing softly in discomfort.

His taupe skin was covered in bruises.

Dark splotches smattering all around his body.

He had received them in a fight, thanks to a behemoth that decided to use his thin body as a play toy. He had been flung around and slammed into multiple times.

There was a large bruise on his side where the lyrium addled beast had pounded into him with a massive fist.

Thankfully, nothing had been broken, but still, everything hurt.

Saros felt sore in places he didn't think were possible.

The warm water of the bath he was currently soaking in helped ease some of the ache, but it wasn't a perfect cure.

He had been offered a potion upon reaching Skyhold, but refused.

He told the doctor that he was fine, and to save the potion for a patient who needed it more than him.

Saros didn't regret turning it down, but that didn't stop him from disliking the pain any less.

As he lay in the water, soaking in the heat, he heard a knock at the door frame.

Glancing over, Saros found Bull standing in the doorway. The large form of the qunari taking up most of the space.

Saros smiled, "Hello, Lethallin."

Bull returned the smile, stepping forward into the room, "Hey there, Kadan. How're ya feelin'?"

"It hurts." Saros responded, shifting once more.

Bull pulled up a stool, allowing him to sit next to the tub and not strain his knee.

He leaned forward, kissing Saros on the forehead, "Sorry, Kadan. Those bastards pack a mean punch."

Saros couldn't help but scoff in a way that said 'Tell me about it.'

Bulls coming up to check on him was sweet, but Saros felt that there was more to his showing up. He says so to Bull, who nods.

"Yeah, I asked Stitches to whip something up for ya."

One white eyebrow rose in query as Saros watched Bull pull an ointment container out of his pocket.

Bull opened it for him, and the strong smell of mint hit Saros like a brick.

Both eyebrows rose at the smell.

"Wow, that's strong," Saros exclaimed.

Bull chuckled, returning the lid to the jar, "Yeah, but it works wonders on sore muscles. If you want, I'll rub some on for you after you get dried off."

Saros nodded in acceptance. He trusted Bulls word on that.

A gentle kiss was pressed to the tip of Saros' nose, accompanied by large fingers stroking through his hair.

The soft touch was relaxing, setting off a purr through Saros' throat.

Bull kneaded his hands through Saros' scalp, alternating between petting and massaging his hair and the top of his neck.

Between the warm water, the massage, and the promise of having those fantastic fingers rubbing salve into his skin, Saros relaxed further, sinking into the steamy water.


	17. Earth

A soft wind blew through the garden of Skyhold, rustling the leaves in the trees and the grass. The breeze carried with it the scent of  
fresh mountain air.

Saros breathed in, eyes closed in relaxation.

He was sitting on his knees in a small plot of garden, working with the dirt and preparing it for planting.

Saros had requested a small space to grow herbs for his tea, which was granted to him. He had been reading up on gardening and had learned all he could from the gardens caretaker. He had absorbed every word the woman had said on maintaining plants.

Saros found that he enjoyed working with the earth.

There was something relaxing with dirt beneath his fingernails and around his hands. He liked the feeling the hard earth loosen beneath him as he worked it. The soil softening the for the seeds he planned on planting.

Next to the plot was a pot, placed on a stone slab that Saros was to plant his mint in.

Saros had been fascinated to learn that he couldn't simply plant the mint in regular soil. If he did, the mint would spread like a rash, strangling everything else in the garden, even replacing the grass and hardiest of weeds. If he didn't have the pot on a stone, instead letting it sit on the ground, the roots would stretch out the bottom and continue to spread.

Other plants, like the lavender and chamomile, would require less precaution.

Some, like the lavender, would need less care as well, being hardier than others.

Learning all the different requirements was exciting to Saros.

Saros was truly enjoying his gardening.

The garden provided so many pleasant stimulants to his senses.

The smell of the dirt and the plants of the garden were calming. It felt like Saros was being anchored by the scent. Saros could almost taste how clean the garden was, as well as the flowers and a few of the more fragrant plants in the garden. Hearing the birds singing in the trees and the wind rustling the leaves.

Everything about what he was doing made Saros feel more centered. He felt more relaxed than he had in awhile. Saros' mind was left free of bothersome worries, which was definitely a nice change of pace.

There would be time later to worry about things.

For now, Saros was going to enjoy digging in the earth and enjoying the garden.


	18. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The perks of being a Tempest.

When Saros' teacher first announced that their first lesson would involve setting themselves on fire, Saros thought the man was absolutely insane.

He immediately began to question why he had chosen the path of a Tempest, but then he remembered his other options.

The artificer wasn't really his thing. Something about that path felt weird to Saros.

The way of an assassin had never been appealing. The thought of the lifestyle wasn't in any way pleasant.

Kihm instructed Saros to coat his clothes in a special concoction that they'd made.

Saros was currently dressed in a set of tan under armor. It had been the pair he'd worn during his first few days at Skyhold.

Coating the fabric in the concoction, Saros awaited further instruction, expecting it to be a long and complicated process.

To his surprise, his trainer, who had also coated himself, pulled a glass flask from one of his pouches and, without warning, smashed the vial against his chest.

Instantly, the man was aflame with his weapon in hand. He charged at a nearby training dummy, slashing into the thing like a blur. The dummy was in flames as soon as Kihm came near it.

Just as quick as he'd burst into flame, Kihm was out again.

Looking the older man over, Saros discovered that he was unharmed. Even his clothing was left unscathed.

"Now, it's your turn," Kihm announced, nodding to Saros, "Do exactly as I did."

Saros gulped and nodded.

He pulled a vial from a pile off to the side and smashed it against himself.

He saw flames start to form where the flask had broken.

Then the fire sputtered out.

Saros could only stare at his chest, where the flames had just been.

'That was not supposed to happen,' he thought.

Kihm, instead of chastising him, howled in laughter. The human was bent double, slapping his knee as he cackled.

Saros felt his face and ears heat up in embarrassment.

He was about to cover his face in shame when Kihm shook his hand and head, choking out something that sounded like, "don't do that."

When Kihm seemed to catch his breath, he said, "Sorry, kid. Wasn't laughing at you, although that face you made was priceless."

Saros' ears twitched, slightly. Either in annoyance or confusion, or both, he himself couldn't tell.

"What was funny, then?"

Kihm chuckled again, "Most first timers can't even manage a spark on their first try. They usually don't mix the chemicals right, or they drown out the ignition. The really unlucky ones don't make the protective coating right, get burnt to cinder, real nasty."

Their dismissal of past deaths was kind of alarming. Saros didn't know if he should comment or not.

\---

The next several tries, over several days, weren't any more impressive, although the flames were lasting longer, and some were getting bigger.

Kihm had Saros tweak the concoctions a bit each time.

With every test, something got destroyed.

In one instance, when Saros had managed to get a flame to last long enough, he had gotten distracted. The elf stumbled slightly, missing the dummy and running into some nearby shrubbery, bursting the bush into flames. Saros was unharmed, only some ash that rubbed against his face.

Another time, Saros slipped on a stray vial, sending it flying off far too close to a building, where it shattered. While alarming, the flames had caused no harm.

Later in the day, Saros had smashed the vial a little too hard, glass cutting into the fabric of his clothes. The shards had severed the already weakening fabric, frayed from repeated smashing. The heat of the flames, now without a proper barrier between them and Saros' skin, were able to burn him slightly.

Thankfully, there were no serious injuries.

Finally, after carefully mixing up improved batches of the bottled fire and protective coating, and getting hold of a new training outfit, Saros was ready to try again.

He was now determined to get this right, pride not letting him give up now.

He had spent his spare time the other day reading even more into the way of the tempest. Saros did his best to absorb every bit of information he could to improve, hoping it would help.

When Kihm gave the signal, Saros smashed the newest vial against his chest. This time, he didn't get distracted.

Instead, he charged forward, only focusing on the target dummy.

The moment he made contact with the straw and burlap target, the dummy burst into flames. The heat of the fire so intense that it reached the other two beside it, catching them ablaze as well.

Saros continued to slash at the dummies, focusing on the task at hand, before he bounced back, away from the now raging inferno.

Looking over his handiwork, Saros felt kind of proud of himself.

He was glad he'd chosen this path now. There was plenty of benefit to being able to wield the elements in battle, despite his not being a mage. The shock value would definitely help as well.

The fire on his body had died down, but the blaze on the training dummies didn't seem interested in stopping.

Kihm walked up beside Saros and patted him roughly on the shoulder, "Congratulations, newbie, on completing your first real lesson on the path to being a master of the Tempest!"

\---

It wasn't long after this that Saros was off on a mission in the Emprise du Lion, caught up in yet another fight with Red Templar.

He was surrounded by several of them, all ready and willing to slice him up into little bits. The rest of his party were more than ten feet away, caught up in their own fight.

Deciding now would be a good time to test out his new trick, Saros smashed a flask of fire on his chest. Fire licked around his body, spreading across his dragon hide prowler coat.

The sudden appearance of flames startled the Templar, giving Saros a chance to leap into the offense. He spun and slashed at the corrupted men, taking them down and catching them on fire in the process. Soon, all the Templar were dead, leaving Saros standing in a bloody ring of charred warriors.

Turning towards his companions, Saros found that they too had dispatched their opponents.

Now, Bull, Dorian, and Varric were standing there, looking over Saros' handiwork.

Bull was impressed, to say the least. The large qunari coming to him and lifting Saros into the air effortlessly, swinging him in a circle before pulling him down for a kiss.

"That was fucking awesome, kadan!"

Now in close proximity, Saros could tell just how happy Bull was to see that trick in action.

Saros could only smile back, pecking Bull on the chin once he was set back down.

Dorian insisted on Saros explaining the basics of the alchemy used, which Saros was excited to talk about, while Varric decided on a new nickname for him.

In the end, the author settled on 'fireball.'


	19. Air

The cold mountain wind blew through the large open window doors of Saros' apartment. The breeze fluttered a few papers weighted down on Saros' desk, but caused no mess as it came through one window and out the other.

Saros and Josephine stood on the balcony overlooking the Skyhold garden. They chatted idly, relaxing and letting off steam as they spoke.

The two had been flooded with never ending meetings and delegations. They were both burning out, and took the pause between meetings as a chance to slip away.

They both had to admit that they needed a breather.

The breeze ruffled their clothes and hair, carrying with it the fresh scents of the mountain air and the garden below.

The elf and Antivan watched the birds as they flew through the sky.

Some landing on the roofs or ledges of Skyhold.

Saros smiled as he watched the birds hopping around a roof.

"You know," he said, leaning against the balcony rail, "there are times where I wish I was a bird. Ever since I was a child."

Josephine looked over to him, listening patiently.

Saros continued, "I love the idea of being able to fly, to have the freedom to explore, to travel. The freedom of responsibility sounds good too, not having to go to meetings, or worry about anything."

Josie nodded, returning Saros' soft smile, "That does sound nice, not having to worry about anything."

The two slipped into a silence as they watched the birds playing with one another.

The silence didn't last long, when Saros broke it snorting in laughter.

"Knowing our luck, we'd end up forming the first Bird Inquisition," Saros chuckled out.

That got a laugh out of Josephine, who said, "Of course, and we would still have to attend council meetings."

"Ugh," Saros exclaimed, "there would probably be a bird version of Orlais too!"

"Their birdseed would probably taste like despair."

The two on the balcony jumped, twisting around quickly at the sound of a new voice. They both relaxed immediately, Josephine placing her hand over her chest in surprise, and Saros moving to greet their visitor.

The elf walked over to Bull, pulling him down by a horn to place a peck on the qunaris cheek and murmuring, "Hello, Vhenan."

Bull chuckled deeply in his chest, wrapping a gentle giant hand around Saros' shoulder in a light hug.

"Hey there, Kadan. Hi, Josie!"

"Hello, Iron Bull," Josephine replied, seeming to have caught her breath from her surprise, "would you like to join us?"

Bull accepted the invitation, joining the smaller two on to lean on the balcony.

"So, Bird Inquisition?"

Saros and Josephine smiled at one another, knowing they had been caught being less than serious.

Knowing that Bull wouldn't judge them for finding a distraction, Saros filled him in. The three began a joking discussion on how bird societies would function in parallel to their own lives.

Along the line, the topic changed over to what type of bird they would all be.

Throughout the rest of the evening, the three entertained one another with debating over birds, their appearances, and qualities, and which member those birds would match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saros would be a Secretary Bird!


	20. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angsty Saros.

Saros bolts upright, white hair mussed from sleep. His bright green eyes wide and staring into the darkness around him.

Looking around, all he found was the simple room of the house in Haven that he was staying in. All he found was the dying fireplace, piles of junk. The only living thing beside himself was the sleeping raven, tucked in its cage in the far corner.

The elf shivered, skin feeling like it was crawling. The panic of his nightmare still racing through his body.

He could still feel the many legs of dream spiders crawling over him, binding him down in their webbing.

This wasn't the first time Saros had been shocked out of sleep by nightmares. It also wasn't going to be the last, Saros knew.

He only wished he was still with his clan.

Whenever he had nightmares before, he could go to his parents, or a friend, or another member of the clan. The Keeper was especially helpful during such times, the woman well aware of how alarming dreams could be.

Now, he had no one.

That thought tore open the pain of this knowledge.

Saros was alone.

He no longer had his family with him. There was no Keeper to chase away nightmares. No Zevriel to joke around, distracting him from his fears. No night guard to sit up with until exhaustion took over once more.

Saros' eyes stung and his chest clenched painfully.

In the privacy of his room, he didn't hold back his tears. Instead, he curled in on himself, holding the blanket closer. Burying his face into the fabric, Saros let out a sob, choking on thick tears as he did so

He did his best to stay quiet, pressing his face harder into the cloth to muffle himself.

He missed his family.

Growing up with a clan, he had always had people that he could depend on.

Now, he couldn't afford to look weak.

Now, people depended on him. They looked up to Saros, some worshiping the ground he walked, others thinking he was lying filth.

Without moving his face from the blanket, Saros reached out to his  
side, feeling around.

Finally, his hand came in contact with soft fabric.

Saros pulled the crimson scarf towards himself, clutching the large square of cloth to himself.

It was a gift from Zevriel, something he had presented to Saros when they were still teenagers. The fabric brought him some comfort, memories of his friend warming him. The memories casting a soothing balm, helping with at least some of the pain.

Saros fell asleep holding the scarf, hoping that his memories would make him feel less alone.


	21. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros and Blackwall have a chat about Saros' personal hero.

Saros took a sip from his mead, leaning on his elbows against the wooden bar, listening to Blackwall talk. The elf had to lean closer to him to hear his words over the surrounding noises. The other tavern goers were chatting loudly all around them, and Meridens music right behind them made hearing the mans words.

The old warrior had just finished a story about his younger days, and the people he had looked up to.

Blackwall took a drink from his mug before turning fully towards Saros. "How about you? Who was the hero that inspired you to become a knife fighter?"

"That's easy," Saros replied, "My mother."

Thick, bushy caterpillar eyebrows shot up on the humans face. It was like they were trying to crawl into his hairline.

"Your mother?!"

"Yes, my mother," He stated.

Saros, after taking another sip, continued speaking, "My mother, Serasa, is clan Lavellans best hunter. She is our best stealth fighter as well."

Serasa Lavellan, lead hunter of clan Lavellan, was tough as nails and came across as a fearless combatant. The elven woman uses twin daggers, crafted by Saros' father and her partner, Feros.

"Hold on," Blackwall interjected, "your name is Saros, son of Feros?"

"Yes," he confirmed while nodding, "my parents named me after a well loved friend of theirs who was killed during a bandit attack. Now, back to my mother."

Serasa was always ready and willing to jump straight into danger if it meant protecting others. She's saved many different people, including a group of shems that had thrown sharp rocks at their aravel and even sharper slurs at the elves. She maintained a code of conduct that went along the lines of protecting those who need it, without expecting thanks.

Another of her personal codes was to be kind to everyone. She would say that you never knew what people were going through, and a little bit of kindness went a long way.

Serasa loved protecting people in many ways. She would readily shed the intimidating mask when talking to children, or someone who needed a gentle face. One moment, she was a fierce lioness, prepared to tear apart prey, the next, she was the loving mother cat, curling around her kittens, soothing them however she could.

Serasa's presence made those who needed help feel safe.

"... and that's why she's my hero," Saros finished, looking directly into Blackwalls eyes.


	22. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros really hates meeting with nobles.

On a scale of one to ten, Saros' stress levels were at a thirteen.

For what now felt like an eternity, Saros had been scrambling to maintain some semblance of balance and peace throughout Skyhold and with the noble families and such.

If he wasn't debating with Josephine over the best course of action with some noblewoman's at the war table to gain favors, he was meeting with even more nobles. 

Hordes of nobles were vying for Saros' attentions, asking for favors in return for their support.

Josephine had explained the importance of keeping favor with as many noble houses as possible.

Saros understood this. But just because he understood, didn't mean he had to like it.

Maintaining the balance of keeping all these nobles happy was driving him crazy. Mostly because the majority of the nobles didn't seem to understand how to act like adults. If one noble received a favor, five more were in the background, whining that lord or lady so-and-so got something, why didn't they.

The elven hunter had more important things to worry about than if someone had received their imported something or other. Important things like saving Thedas from a lunatic ancient magister with a pet archdemon with plans on invading the black city and destroying the world. Or stopping an army of extra toxic, blight corrupted lyrium addled templar monsters from helping the lunatic ancient magister from destroying the world.

But no, please complain about how you had to sit next to someone you didn't entirely care for for three hours.


	23. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros gets a letter.

Saros was excited when he first received a letter from Zevriel.

The letter had arrived alongside a message from Keeper Istimaethoriel. It wasn't written in the neatest of hands, but Saros could care less.

Saros was proud to say that he had many genuine friends. However, the honor of being Saros' first friend belonged to Zevriel, his childhood friend.

Zevriel Lavellan was born the same night as Saros, more than two decades ago on a cold winter night.

Another snow haired elf birthed to clan Lavellan.

The two had grown up thick as thieves. Where one had eaten, so would the other. If one got into trouble, the other was right beside him, being punished by one of their elders.

Saros took the letter with him up along the battlements.

From there, he was able to climb up onto the roof of the tavern, where he didn't have to worry about being bothered.

Perching in a strategic location, he opened the letter to read.

> "Hello, lethallin.
> 
> Keeper Isti finally let me write to you. I cannot believe you, of all people, are the Inquisitor now. It is completely crazy, you know. You being the leader of a holy
> 
> organization, making important decisions that affect the whole of Thedas.
> 
> How are you doing? Are you well? How is the hand? What have you been up to? Learned anything new? Have you met any cute guys? Have you fucked them?
> 
> Have they given you gifts? Have you given them gifts?
> 
> I shall save more questions for the next letter. Keeper said that I had to keep the letter short.
> 
> Fiori, Danyri, Nelhen, and the rest of the clan say hi by the way. Anyways, write soon!
> 
> Love, Zevriel!"

Saros snorted as he finished reading.

Reading his letter, Saros could practically see Zevriel bouncing with energy as he asked the questions.

It was like his best friend was right next to him.

Saros looked over the letter fondly, before getting up and heading to his room. He had a return letter to write.


	24. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros has a nightmare.

Saros' eyes shoot open, the elf startled out of sleep.

Mere moments ago, he was being surrounded by massive spiders. His paralysed body being poked and prodded with spiny legs. The arachnids bound him with silk, wrapping him like a fly in a web. They had dragged him into their burrow, where he was left for newly hatched spiderlings to crawl over.

Saros had woken up just before his insides were liquified and his body drained for sustenance.

Despite knowing that it was a dream, Saros' heart raced, and he shakily lifted his head to take in his surroundings.

He was in his room in Skyhold, safe in his bed.

At Saros' side was Bull, still fast asleep. The qunari mans breath coming out evenly, broad chest rising and falling.

Body still shaking, Saros tried to settle back down, curling into Bulls side. He shifted carefully, trying to bury himself against his bed partner for comfort.

Saros hadn't even noticed that he'd woken Bull until a large arm shifted. It wrapped around him and pulled the still shaking elf securely against Bulls own body.

As Saros adjusts to settle his head against Bulls chest, a second hand came to stroke his hair.

Between Bulls presence at his side, the beating of the man's heart beneath Saros' cheek, and the petting of his hair, Saros ceased shaking. His heart rate slowed to an even pace, and the remnants of his panic were chased away.

That was something Saros loved about Bull. He was never forced to share his nightmares, never with Bull.

The large man understood what it was like to be haunted by things seen on the battlefield.

He also understood that Saros hated bothering people with personal problems.

The first time Saros realized this was the first time he realised he'd fallen for the qunari man. Bull wasn't just his lover, he had become a part of the elfs family, a member of his extended clan.

In the silence of what had become their room, Saros curled against Bulls chest, sound asleep once more. He was safe and warm with his partner, his most trusted companion both on and off the battlefield.


	25. Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros is just a big ass nerd.

Saros nearly vibrated out of his boots as he stood before the entrance of the ruins. They had only learned of this location by studying old glyphs scattered across the exalted plains.

The elvhen man nearly squealed in joy as he pushed through the brush that covered the entrance. His dragonhide prowler coat fluttering and snapping behind him as he sprinted down the stairs just past the entrance.

Following the stairs downwards, he found a pile of notes, indicating that others had been here before them.

Saros wouldn't be shocked if it were humans, planning on looting the temple. That's how things usually went, anyhow.

Splashing excitedly through the water, Saros continued through the entry room. Cole, Solas, and Bull following behind with more caution. They let Saros enjoy getting his nerd on.

The young elf absolutely loved anything that provided a chance of gaining new knowledge on ancient elves. His fascination on the subject as a child advancing into a dedication to recover information on his peoples ancestors.

Seeing the abandoned temple around him gave Saros new life.

He was as excited as a child in a market full of sweets.

As their group got further into the ruins, and Saros learnt that the place was a temple dedicated to Dirthamen, Saros' excitement multiplied tenfold.

Dirthamen was his patron deity. The evanuris whom Saros' vallaslin was based off of.

Seeing that this was a temple of Dirthamen, Saros gasped so sharply, inhaling so hard, that his companions stared at him in concern. Cole asked if he was okay, Saros could only nod rapidly.

As they advanced through the temple, and the prospect of touching severed body parts was required to advance, Saros did so without hesitation.

Even the following fights with the undead failed to hinder his spirits. He remained just as excited.

Every time they came across a new body piece, or a new bit of information, Saros would happily take or record them. He'd shove the body parts into a bag at his side, and write down whatever he learned as notes in a booklet.

They paused for a few breaks to catch their breath while Saros made sketches of the murals, then immediately head off again at a fast pace.

Finally, after over an hour of finding body pieces, fighting undead and demons, they had explored the entire temple. With the exception of one room.

That didn't last long, as they assembled the body pieces together in a large room, releasing a despair demon, which died rather quickly.

In the locked room, which opened after killing the despair demon, Saros found a shield, which found a place on his wall.

It was safe to say that despite the challenges presented in the temple, Saros had enjoyed himself a great deal.


	26. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saros and Dorian get sick, then hang out in a tent.

Well, at least there was no questioning where the Storm Coast received its name.

Saros and his three usual companions, Bull, Dorian, and Cole, had been traveling through the miserable area for only a few hours now. They were currently searching for more of those creepy shards, and were soaked.

The elf was fairly certain that even their bones were soggy with rain.

They were on foot at the moment, having decided to leave their mounts behind at camp, where it was slightly dryer.

The weather had been its typical miserable self. Rain pouring down, the occasional crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, stinging wind.

However, within another hour of traveling, the storm picked up, now violent with harsh, pounding rain that stung their faces and burned their skin. The wind had become violent, stealing away their breath and, once, lifting Saros off his feet. Luckily, Bull had grabbed him and pulled the smaller male to safety.

Thankfully, they were able to find an abandoned cave, blessedly devoid of spiders and other unpleasant creepy crawlies. As cute as Saros thought deepstalkers were, the elf really didn't feel like dealing with them at that very moment.

By the time a fire had been built up, Saros and Dorian were shivering. Bull and Cole were less affected, though still uncomfortable.

They all spent a miserable wet night in the cave, the coldest of the two huddling as close to the fire as possible in just their smalls. They were too cold to care about modesty at this point, anyhow.

\---

By the time the worse storm had broken back down to its usual ways, and the group had returned to camp, Dorian and Saros had become sick.

Both men continued to shiver, sniffling and sneezing, coughing and wheezing. They were miserable and everything hurt, from their muscles to their eyes, to their heads.

The two now sit huddled together in Saros' tent, wrapped in blankets and being miserable together. They sat on Saros' sleeping palette, a bowl of warm soup warming their hands.  
There was a silent agreement between both elf and mage that there would be no serious talk as they rested. Neither man had the energy to think about the current pile of turmoil the Inquisition had stepped in.

For nearly an hour, they talked about meaningless things, like what kind of wine pairs with different types of food.

"How is your family, by the way," Dorian asks, taking a sip of his tea, helpfully provided by Cole. "I heard they were attacked once more."

Saros sneezes, before replying while wiping his nose, "They're alright. Some hunters were lost during the attacks, but thanks to Inquisition intervention, the Keeper says that almost everyone made it out unharmed."

"That's good, and your parents? Your friends?"

Nodding, Saros says, "They're okay as well. Mother was injured in the fight, but father says it is nothing she cannot handle."

Saros leans over, reaching past Dorain. He digs through a travel bag, practically draping himself over the other mans lap in the process, only pulling back once he found what he was searching for.

Producing a bundle of letters, Saros grinned.

"Zevriel helped several of the clan children send letters as well." Saros handed over the letters, allowing Dorian to look them over. "Most of them are illegible, but it is the sentiment that counts."

Opening the letters, Dorian found that many were indeed difficult to read. The untidy scrawl of childrens hands covered most of the pages. Several letters also contained leaves and doodles sent by the children. Dorian could discern that there were little stick figures with pointed ears, aravel, and halla.

The mage snorted, "How charming. And I suppose they've also sent along home cooked meals and other gifts of affection?"

Saros couldn't help but laugh, "If they had the means, I am positive that they would try. If he could, my father would be sending gifts of food and trinkets every chance he got."

A hum, a nod, and a sip of tea were Dorians response.

They sat in silence again, Saros looking over the letters from his clan with affection in his eyes.

"So, what is it like?" Dorian asks.

"What is what like?" Saros asks back, large eyes watching the other curiously.

"Living with your clan. I know you were a hunter, but what else was there? I'm curious."

And so, Saros shares with Dorian what living in the clan was like.

He told him about his mother, Serasa, and how she trained him to be a hunter. He talks about his father, Feros, who taught him the value of knowledge, and how to cook and do basic crafting.

He talks about other clan members, like Keeper Istimaethoriel, Auralia the clans First, and Adris the Halla Master.

He shares stories of how he and Zevriel would get into trouble, and how the two of them, along with Fiora, Danyri, and Nelhen would spend their days hunting and messing about in their youth.

Saros talked fondly about the foods and stories that would be shared. He spoke with joy about traveling about and interacting with shem towns and how they traded with the places they went to.

"That all sounds rather lovely," Dorian muses, "minus the nonstop travel and lack of luxuries."

Saros snorts once more at the others attitude, knowing his words had no offensive heat behind them.

"Alright," the mage says. "One more question before we turn in for the night!"

The elf looks at him, awaiting the others query.

"What have your parents said about you and Bull being together?"

A pause.

And then silence as Saros' eyes widen comically.

For a brief moment, Dorian worries that he's said something wrong, before the other begins to laugh. The light haired man laughs so hard he doubles over, burying his face into his hands.

Between bouts of laughter, Saros manages to gasp out, "I forgot to tell them!"

A well cared for eyebrow raises, "You forgot? How do you forget? I thought you mentioned the big oaf in at least one of your letters."

"I did," Saros confirmed, "In a letter to Zevriel. But he would never share something like that without my permission, even if he loves to hear himself talk.

"Besides, Zevriel is the last person I want telling my parents that I am in a relationship. He would probably tell them that I have been swept away to be bound and gagged by a horny mountain man."

A chuckle from the mage, "To be fair, that's not too far from the truth."

That comment received a look from the elf, who had shifted to lay on his side.


	27. Blue

Today was turning out to be a very good day.

  
The sun was bright in the bright blue sky, the birds were chirping, and a fantastic breeze was blowing.

Saros' ears twitched in excitement. The good weather had put him into a pleasant mood, which had soured during a very cold and wet journey. The mountain path their group had taken turned into a slushy trail of soggy snow.

They had made camp upon reaching warmer weather. The plan was to stay for a day or two to collect themselves, and dry their socks.

Saros was now walking through the woods. He'd wandered a small way off from camp to take in the scenery. He even found several bushes packed full of edible berries, which he planned on taking back to share with his companions.

As he walked, he felt the ground start to angle downwards. The hill he paced towards steepened, which Saros only took note of when it was too late.

While he was taking in the rays of the sun through the tree branches, Saros' foot found a large rock. Said rock tripped him, sending him into a stumbling, tripping run down the steepening incline.

Reaching the base of the hill, the elf tripped once more. The inertia of his decent sending him flying into a bush.

Twigs and dark green branches broke Saros' fall. The scent of greenery, dirt, and sweet, overripe fruit hit his nose.

Any attempt to roll out of the bush was met with failure, and Saros began to flail. Somewhere in his floundering, he managed to fall out of the foliage keeping him captive.

Standing, Saros brushes bush debris from his front. His face was now bright red, nearly obscuring the vallaslin on his cheeks. He could feel berry gunk sloughing off of his torso as he brushed at himself.

That was enough exploring for one day, he concluded, before heading back to camp. This time, he watched where he was going.

Reaching camp, Saros was first met with surprised shock on his friends faces, followed by raucous laughter.

Looking down at himself, Saros discovered that not only was his torso stained blue, but so were his hands, face, and hair.


End file.
